The Shadow That Knows My Name

I had always believed that mirrors were harmless — just smooth glass reflecting back what already existed. That belief shattered the day I moved into my new apartment on the outskirts of Peshawar.

The rent was suspiciously cheap. The landlord, an old man with trembling hands, avoided my eyes when I signed the lease. “Don’t worry about the mirror,” he said before leaving, “Just don’t stand in front of it after midnight.”

I laughed it off. Urban legends, I thought. Every old building had them.

The apartment was small but cozy — a single room, a creaking wooden floor, and that antique mirror on the far wall. It was tall, framed with carved roses, its glass slightly faded like it had seen too many years. I tried to move it, but it wouldn’t budge. The frame was fixed to the wall with old bolts, like someone wanted it to stay there forever.

The first few nights were peaceful. I worked late, made tea, and went to sleep without thinking much about the mirror. But on the fourth night, something changed.

It was 12:17 a.m. I had just switched off the lights when I heard it — a faint whisper. At first, I thought it was the wind sneaking through the cracks. But then I realized the voice was inside the room.

“Azaz…”

I froze. That was my name.

The sound was soft, almost affectionate, like a mother calling her child. I turned on the light — no one was there. But when my eyes fell on the mirror, I saw it.

My reflection was smiling.

The problem was — I wasn’t.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, convinced I was hallucinating. But when I looked again, my reflection’s grin had grown wider, unnaturally wide, stretching until the corners of its mouth reached its ears.

Then, it lifted its hand and waved.

I stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I grabbed my phone to record it — but as soon as I pointed the camera, the reflection turned normal again.

The next morning, I told myself it was stress. Moving to a new place, lack of sleep — it made sense. I convinced myself I’d imagined it.

That night, I avoided looking at the mirror. I turned it toward the wall using a bedsheet to cover the frame. But around midnight, I woke up again — to the sound of someone breathing.
It was slow. Deep. And it was coming from the other side of the room.

I turned on the flashlight on my phone. The sheet covering the mirror was on the floor. And the glass — it was fogged up, like someone had been breathing against it. There was a message drawn into the mist.

> “WHY DID YOU TURN AWAY?”


I couldn’t move. I just stood there, trembling, watching as a handprint slowly appeared on the inside of the mirror — from the other side.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

The following day, I called the landlord. “That mirror,” I said, “there’s something wrong with it.”

There was a long pause. Then he sighed, voice heavy with guilt.
“You should have never looked into it,” he whispered. “It belonged to my wife. After she died, her reflection never left. Anyone who sees her in it… she follows them.”

Before I could ask more, he hung up.

I packed my bags that evening. I wasn’t staying another night in that place. But as I reached for my phone, I saw a notification — a new photo in my gallery. It was a selfie of me sleeping.

Taken at 12:03 a.m.

My blood ran cold. I hadn’t taken that photo.

I deleted it instantly, heart hammering. Then another appeared — this time, a close-up of my face, eyes open, staring blankly at the camera.

That’s when I realized… my reflection had been taking the photos.

I left the apartment before sunset, leaving most of my things behind. But the story doesn’t end there.

It’s been two weeks. I moved in with a friend, Khairi, and tried to forget everything. For a while, life felt normal again. Until last night.

I was brushing my teeth, staring into the small mirror above the sink. For a moment, I saw nothing unusual — until I noticed a second reflection standing behind mine. A shadow with a wide grin and pale eyes.

It whispered, “You can’t hide from me, Azaz.”

The mirror cracked. My friend rushed in after hearing my scream, but by the time he arrived — the mirror was whole again.

Now every reflective surface seems to move when I’m not looking. My phone screen flickers with glimpses of her — sometimes smiling, sometimes standing just behind me.
I don’t know how long I have before she crosses over completely.

All I know is — when you look into a mirror tonight, make sure your reflection moves exactly when you do.

Because if it doesn’t…

She’s already watching you too.